Confession
by LindenMae
Summary: TYL!Gokudera muses on his affection for Yamamoto in a Valentine's Day confession. Fluffy 8059.


**I don't know where this came from. I've never written KHR before but 8059 has seriously taken over my life and they were begging me to do a Vday fic for them. Seriously, just begging. I was listening to The Fray and wrote this as kind of a stream of consciousness thing. I hope I did them justice. TYL!8059 and Gokudera's POV, just to point out the obvious.**

**I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.**

I love you.

I don't know why and I'm not really sure how it happened.

All I know is that I do.

And it's crap.

I want to hate you like I used to think I did when we were young but I think even then I loved you. I just didn't know it yet. I was too distracted by my ambitions. My desire to be Tsuna's right hand man… to be everything the Tenth needed without him needing to ask. I can see now that I was blind. I had tunnel vision.

I was unhappy.

I thought I needed to be distant to be strong, to protect myself from hurting the way I did the day I learned that my mother, my _real_ mother, was dead. I became a different person that day. That was the day that the angry, resentful boy that I used to be was born. I remember it clearly. They say that you don't begin making concrete memories until you're three. I began the very day I met that number. I didn't even know she was my mother then but I loved her anyway. She was beautiful, ethereal like an angel, and everything that I am not. She smiled like you do but her smile didn't infuriate me like yours does, like it _did._

The day my mother died I died too. The day _you_ die they'll erase my name from the history books. Without you there is no me.

I still hate you sometimes, you know.

I hate when it takes you hours longer than it should to come home. And when you do, covered in someone else's blood and more than a little of your own, I want to scream and yell and rail at you and you would let me and that makes me hate you more.

I hate how you're so _good… _so good and yet a natural hitman. How long did it take you to finally use the sharp edge of your sword? And when you did… you did it for me.

I didn't even realize that man had gotten through my barrage of attacks until he was right in front of me and there was no time left for me to react. But somehow there you were and before I even had time to think about how I was about to die _he_ was dead and Shigure Kintoki was drenched in red and you weren't even looking at what you had just done.

You only had eyes for me.

I hit you then.

Right across the jaw and I'd do it again exactly the same way.

I always wanted you to give up on the blunt edge of your blade. I always wanted you to recognize that this was never a game. I always wanted a lot of things but I never wanted them for me. I wanted them for the Tenth, for the family. I never wanted you to look at me the way you did the day you made your first kill… like you'd do it again in a second just as long as I was okay. It made me wonder how you'd look if I _wasn't_ and that _scared_ me.

I hate that you can't seem to realize that you're too good for me. You never wanted anything other than what baseball and sushi could give you. A wife and little baseball idiot children you could teach to pitch and bat and cook seaweed and rice and cut fish. You've brought up adoption. I won't even entertain the idea. I won't bring a child into this world. Into the world that I was forced to grow up in. No one deserves the childhood that I had.

You could still have those things. There will always be a chance for you the way there never was for me. You weren't born into this. You don't have to stay and you know it. You left once already, to play baseball of course, and I _hated_ you then but I hated you even more for coming back. I want you to leave and be happy the way I can never be without you. But then you give me that stupid grin and you laugh in my face and tell me that _I'm_ what makes you happy and that's all you need to know that you're in the right place.

Every time you say stupid things like that you don't know how lucky you are that I don't blow you up. There's nothing quite as satisfying as the smell of gunpowder and smoke. But you don't ever falter even though you _know_ they're not fireworks now.

Idiot.

You're still an idiot, you know. If everything I've said already doesn't make that clear. You're an idiot for ever wanting to be with me. I remember when we were in high school and you confessed like a _girl._ I hit you then too. It was Valentine's Day. I think you thought it would be romantic somehow. I thought it was stupid, that _you_ were stupid but, secretly, I think I was happy because I kept that note and I read it so many times that I wore holes in the paper.

_I like you._

Just three words. You got dynamite in your bag and a cigarette butt in your face for them. You just laughed your stupid laugh but I could see it in your eyes, that determined look you get when you're about to throw a pitch or draw your sword, and I should have realized then that I never had a chance.

I love you, idiot.

I love you and I don't know why. I just know that I do.

Every time that I see you fall and bleed and nearly die _I_ fall and bleed and nearly die.

There is no me without you. I don't know how there ever was.

Today is Valentine's Day, exactly ten years later, and I guess it's my turn to confess.

I love you Yamamoto Takeshi, _my_ baseball idiot.

**Valentine's Day isn't actually for another hour and a half here but let's just ignore that little fact. **


End file.
